


Opening Act/Main Show

by Eatsscissors



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Drunk Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-17
Updated: 2010-03-17
Packaged: 2017-10-08 02:01:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eatsscissors/pseuds/Eatsscissors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens on tour stays on tour.  It's like Vegas that way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Opening Act/Main Show

To begin with, it's been way too long since David was laid, all right? Yeah, it's cool that there are women hanging over the barriers at him after the concerts and screaming at him from the front rows, just this side of outright pulling a Mardi Gras and showing him what they got without even needing the beads, and even cooler that there are no shortage of them eager to come onto the bus for a few hours afterwards before they have to pull out for the next stop on the tour. By the fourth or fifth show, though, the novelty's gone, and after a while it was almost creepy, the way that he could have one of the most gorgeous women that he had ever laid eyes on in his life in the back lounge with him, door locked while the other guys hooted encouragement and were completely oblivious to David's threats to fire them all, and yet she would be staring at him in such a way as to make it completely clear to David that she was not seeing him at all. She was seeing the rock god with who flicked picks into the crowd and grinned at the pretty women and not realizing that the only thing that he had in common with that guy for the other twenty-two hours of the day was a tendency to sweat a lot, a little bit of a beer gut, and a decent ass. Frankly, he was still coming to terms with the third thing. Not to mention that this was all minutiae to be wrangled with well before he was making sure that all camera phones were safely locked away until the lady in question was straightening out her clothes and hair in preparation for stepping _off_ of the bus again. Some of them were fucking _creative_ with sneaking those damned things on board, it nearly made sex more stressful than it was even worth. By the sixth show, while the back lounge was rarely going unoccupied during the handful of hours between showering off the stage-sweat and rolling out again, it wasn't occupied by him. Neal mocked him endlessly for it, but David didn't exactly see him complaining about the unexpected extra privacy.

All of which, after over six months on tour and with little more than his own hand to keep him company for most of it, brought David back to his original point: it had _really_ been way too long since he had gotten laid. _Epically_ too long. He could not remember a dry spell like this since he was in high school, or stuck in the Idol apartments with chaperones and Archie's big, perpetually shocked eyes hiding around every corner. He needs to fuck someone so bad that at this point even returning to groupies is seeming like a good idea, and he might not even check that hard to make certain that the camera phone is safely locked away somewhere where it can't cause Michelle to have a heart attack reading the tabloid headlines the next morning.

His friends--all right, Andy--always said that getting laid made David stupid. He really thinks that they need to clarify that; it's the _lack_ of getting laid that makes David stupid. It's the _pursuit_ of getting laid that makes David stupid. When he's actually _getting_ laid, he's a goddamned genius.

He's not having to pursue much of anything right now. Maybe in this case it's the alcohol that's making David stupid. He ought to have known better than to try to out-drink an Irishman.

"That's not nice," Danny chirps across the small formica table at him. He's leaning on his elbows; there's a bottle clasped loosely between his hands. A little bit drunker, and David thinks that Danny might even lean forward that crucial bit more to rest his chin on the top of the bottle. Impishly, even. He does a lot of things that way.

Oh, David should _not_ have tried to outdrink an Irishman. Every stereotype has a grain of truth in it somewhere, buried way down deep.

"It's not fair," David says, and leans back a little further in the seat on his side of the table. Danny takes another drink of the whiskey that they stole from Neal and then finally does give in and nestle his chin down against the top, eyes falling to half-mast. He's not nearly drunk enough for that shit, either, David is a connoisseur of inebriation in all of its many-splendored forms and he knows that, so--oh. Well, now. That kind of takes him back to his original point.

David makes a valiant effort to refocus, deciding that if he's going to embrace the fluidity of the Kinsey scale at some point tonight, he might ought to make certain that he can still follow one thought to its logical conclusion without getting distracted first. He is _really_ drunk. "You're little, you shouldn't be able to hold that much." It's also been a pretty good while since he's had to practice his come-on lines.

Danny blinks a few times, hint of a frown puckering the skin between his eyes, before his expression smoothes out into the laugh that fits him ever so much better. "Hey," he says, taking the bottle back into his hands long enough to tip it in David's direction before he takes a long pull. His throat works up and down in interesting ways while he swallows. Damn it, the bus's tiny shower is not nearly large enough for what David needs to do in it. "You're not surprised when Neal does it. Or Andy." Alcohol has thickened his brogue considerably, but his smile still glitters. David snatches the bottle back from Danny's grasp, brief warmth of Danny's fingers against his own, _way too long since he's been laid this is ridiculous_\--and takes a long drink. His throat has stopped burning and settled into a glow long before.

"Yeah, but we corrupted Andy into an alcoholic before he had a chance to know any better, and Neal's German," David says, which sounds like perfectly acceptable logic inside his head until he sees the look on Danny's face. "And twice your size."

"You're a little bit racist, you know that?" Danny asks. He takes the whiskey back from David. David thinks that they just might be taking Danny to the hospital before the night is over, and he repeats: _he's seen Neal drink._ More than once. "And a little..." Danny makes a see-sawing gesture through the air between them. It wobbles a bit, first definitive sign he's given all night that, yes, he is feeling the effects of the grain alcohol that he's throwing back as though it's orange juice. "Something else-ish. Anyway, are we going to shag, or what?"

David blinks so hard that his eyes might just be falling out of his head and leans back in his seat. It's wobbly. It should not be wobbly. Good goddamn, he's going to be hurting during sound check tomorrow morning. "Huh," he says. "And here I thought that I was going to need to, I don't know, seduce you or something."

Danny laughs. Danny laughs a lot, and he has a good one, like bells. "I haven't had more company than my own hand since I signed up for this tour with you bunch of latent alcoholics," he says cheerfully. Danny leans across the table and grabs for David's hand, yanks him from the booth so hard that David thinks that he would have some trouble keeping his feet even if he were completely sober. "Come on, David, be nice: if nothing else, let me have _your_ hand." Danny leans back so that he can look David straight in the eye before he runs his tongue out across his lower lip, slow and thorough, offering David a more than fair trade for use of that use of the hand, even if David weren't already deciding right then and there that if they were going to rechristen the back lounge, they were going to do it _right_.

"Oh, sweet zombie Jesus," David mutters. He jumps up from the Formica table so quickly that he slams his knees against the underside, knocking their collection of empty bottles over and making Danny laugh. He's still laughing when David grabs him by the hand and tugs him up to his own feet, pushes him back against the table so that he can kiss him hard. That hummingbird quality of constantly being in motion that Danny carries with him, well, everywhere, but especially when he's onstage evaporates like steam when David is kissing him slow and thorough, keeping one hand on his jaw to discourage Danny from trying to do anything other than holding still.

"You taste like whiskey," Danny manages after David has released him. He licks his lower lip again. This time isn't intended to seduce, but only to help him get his breath back, and it's still one of the sexiest fucking things that David had seen in his life. "And the rumors are true, you're good at that."

"Hey," David protests. "Who's been talking to you about how I kiss?" He finds his legs again, however wobbly, and start dragging Danny off towards the bus's back suite. He doesn't care if he and the band are all buddies, if there's anyone in there already enjoying the bed he is going to waste zero time pulling the boss card and kicking them right out on their asses, this is the worst case of blue balls that he's staggered around with since he was a teenager. He's going to check Danny's cologne for pheromones. For now, though, he's just going to keep his hand fisted through the front of Danny's shirt and pulling him after, laughing, as he kicks the door open. It's empty.

"That was a bit dramatic," Danny observes, the laughing in his tone not matching the way that his eyes are all pupil, and not because the room is dark. He grunts as David throws him down on his back among the bedclothes and then kicks the door shut behind him.

"That dramatic, too?" David asks.

"No one tells you how much of a fucking diva you can be, do they?" Danny asks, but he's caught between laughing and looking David up and down long and slow like he would like to substitute his eyes with his tongue. David hears someone entering the bus, sounding happy and drunk, and has no idea who it is. He reaches out behind him and carefully engages the lock on the door.

"You haven't hung out with my friends nearly enough," David answers. "They tell me _constantly_." He throws himself down on top of Danny and catches himself with his elbows, because knocking the air out of someone that you intend to sleep with is generally not considered a good way to make them want to sleep with you a second time, or even the first time if you do it hard enough. He must manage to fall on the sexyfuntimes side of the equation, because Danny grabs him by the back of his neck and pulls him down for a kiss. It's dark, and they're drunk, and their teeth meet with a clacking noise that makes David laugh, he can't help it. "Sorry," he murmurs, but Danny doesn't seem offended. He has David's shirt raked halfway up his stomach and back and is running his hands across the skin, somehow wiggling enough to slide his knee between David's thighs even though David would have sworn that he had him pinned down. David's jeans are way too tight and his skin way too hot; Danny might be below David, for the moment, but David's wiling to bet that he doesn't have any idea how much he's actually the one in charge of the situation. The solution to this conundrum is clearly to ply his mouth to the side of Danny's neck, teeth and tongue until he knows that Danny will be wearing his marks in the morning, while Danny arches and makes an incoherent noise. David is _so_ glad that Michelle hurled what seemed like all of the condoms in the entire world into the bus and then announced that she never needed to know anything else about it at the start of the tour.

"Do you--?" Danny starts, sitting partway up so that he can try to pull David's and his own shirt over their heads. If either one of them were sober, maybe they would realize that this was a job best accomplished one person at a time, and wouldn't wind up in a helpless, snorting tangle, but then David wouldn't have Danny's face against the side of his neck at the end, or have a sound that Danny is going to vehemently deny was ever a giggle fanning out against his skin.

"Yeah, I got," David finishes, finally managing to get his tee shirt over his neck and hurled into one corner of the room without killing himself. He'll deal with a broken ass his own damned self before he explains that he got it falling off of the bed while doing his very best to fuck his opening act.

"No," Danny corrects him, shaking his head. He's past his shirt and onto his shoes without any sign of dizziness or discombobulation, the alcoholic Irish bastard. "I meant lube."

Oh, fuck him running. Fuck _somebody_ running. David takes a few seconds to put his brain back into working order before he answers hoarsely, "Yep, think we can figure out where some of that is, too." The voices out in the front half of the bus get louder until someone rattles at the door in a very special obnoxious manner that means they know damned well what the locked door means. "Go to a hotel room!" David yells over his shoulder, and hears Andy and Kyle laugh like crazy people on the other side of the barrier.

"Oh, it's a shaggin' wagon!" Kyle yells before he pounds on the door a few more times for emphasis. Danny is nearly fetal from trying to hold back his laughter; the only reason that David can imagine for not hearing Andy's color commentary is that he's outright on the floor.

"I've been friends with Andy for years, I have to put up with his shit," David informs Danny with a mock solemnity. "I'm pretty sure Kyle just came with the bus."

"Good thing that I'm a bit of a voyeur then, yeah?" Danny says; no, really, _fuck him running._ David nearly growls as he pushes Danny back down to the bed again and holds him there until he's kissed him gasping. "Sensing a theme."

"Shut up," David answers fondly while he finishes toeing off his shoes and socks without use of his hands; Danny probably would have been able to drink David under the table if they had kept it up for too much longer, but see him try _that_ shit without rolling off the bed. Danny sketches out a sarcastic salute to him but doesn't seem to have any complaints about where he is, sprawled out beneath David and necking as if they're a couple of teenagers with nothing better to do with their time. So far as David's concerned, making out is a lost art, that slow, languorous build up of heat that came with mouths touching nothing more than other mouths, and hands skimming across clothing with ever removing it. He could do this for _hours_. Danny seems to like it, too, making small noises that are nearly frantic whenever David's mouth leaves his for a brief sojourn to his neck, his collarbone; he's even paler than David himself is, and that's saying something. In the little bit of light that's filtering in through the bus window, thankfully too high for anyone to catch a good shot, he's almost ethereal.

Danny doesn't let David have even that small moment of appreciation before he's jerking him back down and _demanding_. He's hot and eager and keeps lurching up against David's mouth so hard that they have a few more of those teeth-on-teeth moments, which shouldn't be nearly as exciting as it actually is. He tastes like whiskey, and even as David keeps kissing him he can't seem to stop smiling. David traces his hands up and down Danny's sides, feels his ribs faintly under the skin over muscle, the deep movements when Danny breaths and the ragged ones when David does something right with his mouth.

Danny puts his hand against David's chest and pushes him back slightly, lips pornographic and eyes black. "Are you going to fuck me or what?"

David's brain short-circuits so hard that he's amazed he even manages to keep breathing. All right, so maybe his hours plan is right out the window. "Yeah," he finally manages. "Yeah, I think that I can manage that."

It's hard, at first, to find something suitable, because David has had entertained plenty of women back in this suite after shows, but he never seriously thought about the logistics of something like _this_ happening. Danny doesn't exactly make it easier, either, with his hand finding itself over and over again to the front of David's jeans, stroking and gripping just so, taking the possibility of getting laid from a friendly tantalization into something that David thinks he might need more than he actually needs air, right now. He finds a bottle of hand lotion kicked halfway under the bed and is briefly torn between immediately going out into the front room again and finding out who the hell was jacking off in here (that's what showers are for, fuck, you would think that they weren't civilized at all), or else who the hell was such a _delicate snowflake_ (Neal makes him wonder, sometimes), and, well. In the end, there are much more entertaining things happening right in here behind the locked door than any arguments that he could be happening beyond it.

"Come on, come on," Danny mutters to him, hand on David's cock, and David is just about to say back to him that it's a little hard to obey orders when Danny is using David's prick as a leash like that, but then Danny wriggles out of his jeans like an eel and turns over, obliging and luminescent in the slight light. He's going to be lucky that David even keeps it together enough to stop for lube, he keeps pulling shit like that.

"Holy fuck," he manages after a long pause.

"Isn't that nice. Your friends told me that you were a poet," Danny answers, just a shade sarcastic, and stretches out even further against the bedclothes, all but asking, _Are you waiting for an even bigger invitation here?_

David exhales a long breath that is ragged at the end and pulls his jeans down his legs faster than he has at just about any other point in his life. He rips the corner packaging on one of Michelle's helpful little gifts with his teeth, rolls it down over himself and slicks the lotion over that. Two more fingers he dumps the lotion over and then pushes into Danny, making him jerk and hiss, and asks, "Does that hurt?"

"Little," Danny admits, and then _wiggles_. "Didn't say anything about how that means stop, though." Satisfied that he's not about to break Danny, David crooks his fingers, and almost thinks that he's going to have to grab Danny's hip to keep them both on the bed. "Mother Mary, fucking do that again."

He's a talky little bastard. David hisses a breath and grabs Danny's hips, still kind of afraid of hurting him with something that he's never actually done before until Danny whispers, "They told me that you were kind of an emo bastard, too," and then David makes a growling sound and pushes in all at once. It's tight, and Danny arches up against David so hard at that first thrust that they nearly have the falling-off-the-bed issue again; it ain't that big. Call him fucking emo or not, David's still a little concerned until Danny gasps, twists his hips, lurches back against him. He can imagine only a few clearer consents than that; most of them involve Danny wrapping himself around David's leg and then--there are only so many different images that David's brain can take at once unless he wants to give himself a stroke. He pulls out nearly all of the way and then slams back into Danny, hard, hard enough that Danny grunts and for once doesn't have a color commentary to offer. He makes a harsh, broken whining sound to let David know that he's doing something right, then twists with his hips, seeking a better angle, when David pushes into him again. It's so tight ,and so warm, and so good, that David doesn't even realize that half of the sounds in the room are his until several moments have gone by. He grips at Danny's hips hard enough to leave marks that will still be there in the morning, matching the ones that he's left on Danny's neck.

"Come on," Danny gasps out, nearly mewling, "Come on, harder than that, I know you got it in you." He grabs for David's ass with one flailing, sweaty hand so that he cannot pull back all the way and has to get inventive with his next thrust.

"Oh, I'm never letting you leave this bus again," David gasps, pushes into Danny again as hard and as fast and as deep as he thinks he can get away with before he snaps one of the two of them in half, drapes himself over Danny's back so that he can take Danny's cock in his hand and squeeze before he starts to stroke, not being gentle, loving the way that Danny wiggles and makes noises that he can't hold back. It's not that David's domineering in bed, exactly, though he loves being on top of another human being both physically and metaphorically and giving them things that they didn't even know that they needed. It's that he loves to read people, onstage and off, and adjust his performance accordingly. What Danny wants is etched into every line of his body, neon, electric. David squeezes at Danny's hip again; Danny throws his head back so hard that they nearly collide, and that's it, there's no going back. The rhythm of push and pull between two sets of skin has already determined its own course; David doesn't even realize how close he is to coming until his skin is alive and the spasm is taking him over. He rides it out and then sinks down across Danny's back, pinning him against the mattress, and only barely remembers to take Danny in hand again and get him the rest of the way. Danny make a sound from way down deep in his throat that sounds as if it hurts and jerks against David, but takes a long time before he fully settles down against the mattress again. David slides out of Danny as soon as his cock stops being too sensitive for direct touch again, but keeps his hand splayed against Danny's belly, not certain in the aftermath as to how close is too close. Always been his problem, and probably why there are women in a dozen different cities at this point who swear that he's coming back at any time for them. After a beat, Danny puts his hand back over David's while their sweat cools on top of the bedclothes.

"You really need to unlock that door tonight?" Danny asks over his shoulder.

Unaccountably pleased, David answers, "They can figure it out until morning," and listens to their breathing even out, find a rhythm together.

End


End file.
